Giving In
by yamineko87
Summary: VampSherlock. Sherlock helps Lestrade on a case and gets more than a simple scratch in return.  story is better than summary i promise.
1. Chapter 1

_Umm… not mine….don't sue…that is all._

**Chapter one**

Lestrade sighed as he looked at the folder currently resting on his desk. "Bloody hell." He was going to have to ask for help soon. This particular criminal was avoiding him at all cost. "I know what you are, so why can't I find you?" He murmured to himself.

"Can't find what?"

Lestrade jumped halfway out of his seat in surprise. "Sherlock!" He waved the other man in and bade him shut the door behind himself. "What are you doing here?"

The lanky man flopped in one of the seats in front of the DI's desk carelessly. "Bored," he replied.

"Where's John?" Lestrade asked curiously. It seemed the two were inseparable lately so it was odd to see only one half of the duo.

"At the surgery," Sherlock replied, waving a hand in dismissal.  
>Lestrade raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well then. I'm glad you're here. I need your help."<p>

"Don't you always?" Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to hear it or not?" Lestrade asked impatiently.

"Yes, yes, alright." Sherlock motioned for him to hurry up. "Get on with it."

"Alright. Okay, this is going to sound pretty odd but I don't think we are dealing with a human killer for this one."

Two hours later Sherlock returned to 221b to find John waiting for him on the couch. "Where were you?" John asked suspiciously.  
>"Lestrade called. He needed my opinion on a case." Sherlock replied distractedly, mind still trying to come up with some other conclusion for the case he had been shown, not finding any.<br>John narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Really?"

"Mm," Sherlock agreed sitting down and opening his laptop, beginning to tap away immediately.

John was silent for a bit. "Well, I'm going to turn in early tonight," he said getting up with a groan. "Bloody back is killing me." _Might have something to do with what I just had done to it._

"Right," Sherlock said, not really paying attention.

"If you go out please let me know, Sherlock." Sherlock glanced up, a frown on his face. "I worry about you sometimes, running off by yourself," John told him staring at the floor, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Sherlock smiled happily, feeling warmth spread through his chest at John's concern. "You want me to wake you up just to tell you I'm going out?" He asked.

John nodded slightly. "Yes."

"If you say so," Sherlock replied, looking back to the computer screen.

John sighed and went to shower and go to bed.

As soon as the water for the shower turned on Sherlock sighed heavily and rubbed his face tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "Impossible," he mumbled. "There is no way that Lestrade can be right. They don't exist."

An hour later he got a text from Lestrade telling him that he was following the killer. He was up and halfway out the door before he remembered his promise to John. Glancing at the stairs leading to John's room he sighed.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly, half hoping John was asleep, the other half not so sure. "John?" A little louder that time when there was no response.

"Mm?" Was the muffled reply from the direction of the bed. "Sherlock?" John queried, raising his head slightly.

Sherlock's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, he could make out John lying on his stomach, his arms cushioning his head. He was blinking blearily up at his door where Sherlock was standing. "Something wrong?" he asked sitting up slightly.

Sherlock shook his head slightly, part in the negative, part to try to erase the sight of John half naked from his head.

"No, nothing wrong. You told me you wanted me to let you know if I was going out."

John blinked. "Oh." He rubbed his eyes. "You want me to come?" He asked already starting to slide out of bed.

Sherlock groaned to himself. _God yes, you have no idea_. He turned away before the urge to go to John overwhelmed him. "No, I will be meeting Lestrade. We'll be fine."

John looked at him, head tilted to the side. "Sherlock?" He stepped closer to the taller man, reaching a hand out to rest on the thin shoulder in front of him. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock was trembling with the urge to pin John against the wall. "'M fine." He muttered, closing his eyes to relish John's touch. He had been feeling this way since the pool, every touch from John sending sparks up his spine and heat coiling in his stomach. John was still talking, asking him if he wanted John to call Lestrade and tell him that Sherlock was ill. He was trying to turn Sherlock around to face him, his voice getting more worried the longer Sherlock resisted.

His control finally snapped.

Suddenly Sherlock spun around, slamming John into the wall next to the door. John blinked up at him, confusion etched in his face. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock growled low in his throat bending close to John's face and inhaling his scent deeply. He closed his eyes, all thought chased away by John's closeness and touch.

John was starting to panic slightly, unnerved by Sherlock's silence, his hands reaching up to hold Sherlock away slightly. "Sherlock?" He said again.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, unfocused and hazy, pupils blown wide. "John?"

"Sherlock, what-?" John swallowed unable to focus.

Sherlock was focused entirely on John's lips now, staring at the way he formed words. Sherlock leaned closer, eyes sliding shut as their lips met softly. Sherlock moaned deep in his chest.

John's eyes were wide and shocked. "Sher-" The rest of the name was muffled as their lips met.

The kiss only lasted a few short moments but to Sherlock it seemed to last for a lifetime, electricity running from his lips all through his body. Then John broke the kiss, spluttering, looking at Sherlock like he had grown a second head. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that about?" he asked indignantly, his hand going to his mouth even as he stared at Sherlock.

"I.." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had never lost control before. "I'm sorry."

With that he ran from the room, despite John's yell for him to wait, his eyes blurry and his heart pounding. _Oh god what have I done? I've ruined everything!_ Sherlock's mind whirled with possible scenarios of what could happen because of this, most of them involving John's moving out.

Thankfully another text from Lestrade distracted him, bringing his mind back to the case, but in the back of his mind there was a voice repeating something he never would have thought he'd ask himself.

_What have I done?_

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice echoed in the ally they were to meet at, the suspect had gone into the club around the corner. "That you Sherlock?" He queried, squinting down the alleyway, trying to identify the shape moving swiftly toward him.  
>"No, it's Anderson." Came the sarcastic reply.<p>

"Oh, that's good then. At least I won't get insulted too much." Came the quick retort.

Sherlock smirked. Lestrade was getting faster at that. "Where is this killer we're supposed to be chasing?" He asked, looking around the alley.

"Went into the bar 'round the corner. Heard her mumbling something about needed to use the phone."

Sherlock raised a brow. "Really?" The doubt was thick in his voice.

"That's what I heard," Lestrade replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"And she hasn't come out yet?"

"Nope."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, and Lestrade could hear the wheels in his head spinning. "What does she look like?" He asked, wanting all the facts.

"Like that," Lestrade said, pointing to the bar where the woman was coming out pulling her jacket tighter around her.

Sherlock spun around, taking a step toward the woman then pausing, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Not from around here obviously." He murmured, mostly to himself.

Lestrade looked at him. "We going after her?" he asked, preparing for a long run as the woman was trying to flag a cab.

Sherlock glanced at him quickly, then back to the woman. "No. I'm going after her. You call backup."

"Backup?" Lestrade asked, surprised. "For that tiny thing?" though he knew better.

"Yes." Sherlock replied. Lestrade blinked and Sherlock was gone, coattails flapping as he ran.

"Sherlock! Wait!" Lestrade yelled, giving chase as he sent a quick text to John, telling him Sherlock was going off half-cocked again.

Sherlock looked around himself warily, the woman had disappeared in a dead end alley. "I know you're here. There's no reason to run anymore." He said to the empty street, still looking carefully for any sign of movement.

"Oh, there never was a reason to run other than to get you by yourself, Sherlock Holmes." Said a light voice with a slightly musical quality to it from his left.

He spun, trying to see her, when suddenly he was pushed into the wall where her voice had come from, a voice hissing in his ear. "You should have stayed home tonight, human." Then there was a dull pressure on his neck and all he knew was pain.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade rounded the corner just as the woman dropped his friend to the ground where he lay gasping in pain, blood running from his neck and mouth, his arms and legs jerking, his back arching off the ground. Lestrade raised his gun and fired at the woman who laughed and flitted to the side.

"You of all people should know that won't work." She told him, leaning against a wall watching Sherlock writhe around on the ground, his eyes shut tightly and his breath hissing out from his clenched teeth.

"You bit him." Lestrade stated, glancing at her smiling face. "You're turning him?"

"Mm." She agreed. "He will make a fine vampire, don't you think?"

"You have no idea.." Lestrade muttered, running his hands over his face tiredly. "Can I take him home? Or are you keeping him?"

"Oh, you can have him. You won't see or hear about me again." She told him waving a hand dismissively. Then she was gone.

"Fuck." Lestrade went and knelt next to Sherlock's twitching body. "C'mon then, Sherlock, up you get." Lestrade eased Sherlock to his feet, the taller mans arm draped around his shoulders, and lead him to the car waiting for him at the end of the alley.

John paced back and forth in his room, waiting for Lestrade to reply to his text. His thoughts centered on the text he had received from the man the night before.

_He's run off again. Going after him. No need to worry._

_-GL_

No need to worry my arse. John snorted. There was always a reason to worry when Sherlock ran off. There was even more reason to worry when the lanky man didn't come back to their flat.

*beep* John immediately stopped pacing, flipping his phone open, eyes scanning the text quickly. He frowned. _Why on earth would Sherlock go out of town and not tell me?_

Sherlock became aware slowly. He would say conscious but he already was. "Lestrade?" He croaked, his throat burning. He cleared it and tried again, "Lestrade?" Much better.

"Sherlock." Lestrade's voice sounded distant, as if from the other side of the room, or the other side of a door. "Open your eyes, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned, but obeyed. He blinked. And again. "Lestrade?" He looked around himself slowly, trying to sit up. When he couldn't he looked down, seeing the restraints around his wrists, chest, and ankles. "Lestrade, what the hell is going on?" He yanked on the restraints sharply, and they groaned in protest. _ Must be pretty old._ Sherlock looked toward Lestrade and his eyes widened. "Why the hell am I in a cell?"

Lestrade sighed, bringing Sherlock's intense gaze to him. "Do you remember anything at all Sherlock?"

Sherlock frowned, trying to think past the burn in his throat. He shook his head, closing his eyes as he sighed. Then froze.

Lestrade noticed him freeze and put his back to the half open door, ready to bolt. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. "What is that wonderful smell?" He asked, his eyes still closed.

Lestrade gulped, his eyes darting to the restraints, hoping they would hold and knowing that they wouldn't if the man really wanted to get out of them.

He look back up to Sherlock's face and recoiled when he saw the man's eyes open and focused on him. "Sherlock.." The eyes snapped up to his face, pupils blown wide.

Sherlock didn't know what was happening. That smell was intoxicating. He wanted to go to it, drink it in, and drown in it.

He tried to sit up again, frowning at the restraints. He flexed his arms, testing the strength of them. His eyes snapped open, glaring at the cloth around his wrists. He growled, the sound more animal like than usual, and jerked his arms up hard, restraints ripping like paper. He smirked and ripped the one on his chest off, then jerked his feet free. He slid around to sit on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes again. He lifted his head, sniffing the air, the wonderful smell leading out of the room and to the front door. Sherlock smiled, opening his eyes, and stood regarding the cell doors in front of him with disdain. He cocked his head to the side. "Hm."

Suddenly he kicked out his foot, the iron bars shattering on impact, then he was gone.

Lestrade practically flew down the front steps to his car, the image of Sherlock ripping his restraints off like they were nothing ingrained in his head. He had never been as afraid of that man as he had been right then, when those eyes- those crimson eyes- had settled on him.

He got into his car and drove off to the Yard, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't be able to follow through all the other scents in this busy town.

Sherlock paused in Lestrade's entryway, his eyes focused on a mirror he had passed on his way through. He frowned in confusion, walking back to it slowly, not really believing what he had seen.

He paused in front of it, slowly raising his eyes. "Oh my god.."

"Lestrade?" John let the frantic man into the flat, starting some water to boil in the kettle for tea.

"John, he's disappeared. I was following him then he just vanished, I have no idea where he went." Lestrade refused to look at the man across from him, ashamed of his lies. "I'll find him John. I promise."

"When you do you had better bring him back here we have things we need to talk about." John looked like he was remembering something and Lestrade wondered what had happened between the two men.

"I will," he replied.

Sherlock slowly looked into the mirror again, his hands running over his face slowly. "He was right." He whispered. "Lestrade was right. It was a vampire. It bit me. It turned me." Now he remembered what had happened. He remembered the pain of the last 24 hours, the blood that had run down his chest from the wound in his throat. He remembered when he had felt his heart stop…

He opened his mouth, looking at his teeth closely, noticing the slightly pointed canines. _ Crap. _He sighed, and started walking outside when he noticed a note on the inside of the door.

He frowned as he read it, looking back towards the kitchen then back down to the note. "Hm."

_Sherlock,_

_I know this may sound a bit odd but I know what you are now and I know what you want the most. I left some in the fridge for you. Please don't make a mess I just had the floor cleaned._

_-GL_

Sherlock snorted. The nerve of that man sometimes. He shook his head slightly and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out the packets of blood that sat on the shelf.

He uncapped one and sniffed it, frowning slightly. It didn't smell as good as what he had smelled earlier but he supposed that it was because this wasn't fresh. He shrugged to himself and took a small drink, waiting to gag. He swallowed slowly then started chugging the rest, small drops falling from the sides of his mouth.

He huffed a deep breath when the bag was empty, wiping at his lips to remove any trace of the blood, then licked it off his fingers, humming slightly.

"Not too bad, I guess." He said to himself quietly. He sighed. _ I suppose I should go see Lestrade… Though I'd like to see John, I'm afraid I'll hurt him._ He flipped the note over and read the back.

_I'll be at the Yard when you've had your fill._

Sherlock sighed again and started his journey to the Yard to try to get some answers out of his favorite DI.

Lestrade sighed again looking at his watch, then at the door to his office, then back at his watch. He wouldn't be able to stay in his office much longer without raising suspicion.

"Waiting for someone. Geoff?"

Lestrade nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him. "Bloody hell, man! Can't you knock?"

Sherlock smirked. "Do I ever?" he asked, seating himself on the edge of Geoff's desk.

Lestrade sighed yet again, running his hand through his hair. "No, I suppose not."

Lestrade looked up at him slowly almost afraid of what he would see.

Sherlock smiled. "No need to be scared this time Geoff. I got the gift you left me."

Lestrade nodded. "Good."

"So.." Sherlock let the question trail off, knowing Geoff would finish it on his own. And he did, then he told him all he knew about what Sherlock had become.

When he was done, Sherlock had one more question for him. "How do you know all this?"

Lestrade looked down at his hands. "I was a Hunter." He said quietly.

"Was?"

"Yes. Was. Then I fell in love with one of the things I was meant to kill."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised, "What happened?"

"They killed him." Geoff was so quiet Sherlock almost couldn't hear him.

Sherlock's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. _Him?_

"Then they told me to leave and never come back. They told me I had gotten too soft. Too weak." His hands were clenched on the edge of his desk so hard Sherlock hear the bones and wood creaking.

Sherlock wasn't used to giving comfort but he figured he could try this once for his friend. He laid a hand on his shoulder softly. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely.

Geoff gave a small smile and patted his hand. "It was a long time ago, Sherlock." He sighed again and looked up at the black haired man on his desk.

"I have one question for you." He said.

Sherlock raised a brow. "Go on." He prompted.

"Are you going to tell the good doctor?"

Sherlock eyes went wide.

_Oh god… what am I going to tell him? I can't go back there, I'll hurt him…_

Sherlock groaned, Geoff chuckled and patted his back reassuringly. "You'll be fine, just be honest with him."

Sherlock looked up. "I can't go back there Geoff. I can't." He shook his head sadly. "He won't want me to come back, not after what I did to him."

It was Lestrade's turn to raise a brow in question. "What did you do this time?"

Sherlock glared at him. "I kissed him." He said quietly.

Geoff laughed out loud and Sherlock glared harder. "What?" he asked offended.

"Sorry mate, sorry." He chuckled again. "It's just.. It's about damn time."

Sherlock's eye widened. "How did-?"

Geoff laughed again, "How did I know?" He finished for him. "It's bloody obvious that you want him, you never take your eyes off him, you touch him as often as you can get away with, and are obsessively jealous whenever anyone else shows the slightest interest in him."

Sherlock blinked. "Oh," was all he could say. "But he doesn't want me to go back, he's furious at me."

Geoff scoffed slightly. "No he's not. He's confused yes, but he's not angry."

"You saw him after?" Sherlock asked hopefully

"Mm," Geoff agreed softly. "He was worried you had got yourself hurt again."

Sherlock laughed, startling Lestrade with the openness of it, the honesty. "I guess he was right to worry this time, eh?" Sherlock said still chuckling. Lestrade blinked at him, nodding.

Sherlock frowned, eyes unfocused. "Will you come with me?" He asked quietly, shocking the DI yet again.

"I don't see why I couldn't," he replied slowly.

Sherlock smiled widely and pulled him from his desk. "Let's go then," he said happily.

"John?" Geoff called, sticking his head into the doctor's room after he saw the light was off.

"Mmph." Was the reply.

"Sherlock's here," he explained, smiling as John shot out of bed and ran past him in his boxers and a t-shirt.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes were wide as he stared at the lanky mans back where he looked out the window. Sherlock tilted his head slightly letting John know that he had heard him.

"Hello John," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Sherlock what happened? Where did you run off to? Why didn't you tell me where you were going, I was worried sick."

Sherlock turned after he was sure he had himself under control. He had glimpsed his flat mate running down his stairs dressed in only his boxers and t- shirt. It had taken everything Sherlock had not to run to him and molest him.

"I'm fine. Just a last minute lead led me out of town. Didn't have a chance to call." He replied, taking a step closer to the shorter man. He caught the quick shake of Geoff's head and froze, closing his eyes tightly, willing himself to calm down.

John looked puzzled. "Are you sure you're alright Sherlock? You look more pale than normal."

There was a muffled snort form behind John, and Sherlock glared at Geoff, who raised his hands in surrender.

"I'll just leave you two for the night. Sherlock, call or text if you need anything at any time, I will answer."

Sherlock nodded, "Yes thank you Geoff."

John looked back and forth between them knowing he was missing something big but not knowing what it was. "Umm."

Sherlock looked at him, his gazed more focused than John had ever seen. More intent. He swallowed. "Later John."

John nodded shakily.

Lestrade coughed loudly bringing Sherlock's attention to him, and looked at him pointedly. Sherlock nodded.

"G'night then," Geoff said walking out and leaving the newborn to his mate. _Poor John._ He thought chuckling to himself. Too bad Sherlock didn't want John to know.

Sherlock had turned back to the window as soon as Lestrade had left, his hand rubbing his throat seemingly without thought on his part. He sighed.

John looked closely at him seeing how very pale he was, how gaunt, how hungry he looked. "Are you really okay Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled. "I'm fine, just tired." He faked a yawn. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight John."

"G'night," John replied, frowning.

Sherlock groaned again, not sure how he was going to get through this without telling John what had happened. _Not like he'd believe me._ He thought with a snort. "God, I wish I could tell you how much I love you John. But it's too dangerous now. I can never have you," he muttered to himself, running his hands over his face in frustration.

He lay still all night thinking about what he could do to forget his feelings for the man in the room above him.

"Sherlock, I'm just going to the store. I'll be back in no time I don't need you to follow me," John said tiredly. This wasn't the first time they had had this argument.

"Moriarty's still out there John. He's still looking for a chance to get at one of us." Sherlock sounded desperate. _Please don't leave me._

"Sherlock I promise I will call if I feel I'm being followed." _By anyone other than your brother's goons_, he added silently.

Sherlock sighed, he did that a lot now, and relented. He knew something bad was going to happen but with John being so stubborn he wouldn't be able to stop it from happening.

"Fine."

"Thank you," John said, with a sigh of relief.

"Be careful John." The tone of Sherlock's voice turned him back around.

Sherlock's eyes were downcast and his hands were clenched at his sides, trembling slightly.

"Sherlock?" John's voice shook slightly, his hand reaching out to raise Sherlock's face to look at him. A split second before his hand made contact Sherlock was gone. He just disappeared, leaving John dazed and thinking maybe he was daydreaming or something.

Sherlock locked his bedroom door behind him, leaning against it as he tried to calm himself. He had been so close to giving in again. So close. John smelled so good, it was so much better than Geoff smelled.

Unknown to John, Sherlock spent most of his nights now watching the other man sleep, his regular breathing having a calming effect on the black haired man. Every night he would fight the temptation to slide closer to the soldier laying on his stomach, a position he seemed to prefer, his arms cradling his head on his pillow, the sheet down around his waist, his hair shining in the moonlight from his recent shower.

Sherlock stared at him for hours until John would finally start to stir, the feeling of being watched seeping through his mind slowly. He would sit up groggily, looking around. "Losing my bloody mind," he would mutter before laying down again.

Sherlock found he could relax after having watched him for a while. It allowed him to think clearly.

He had figured out two very important things in his time watching John sleep.

The first was that he was catching himself wanting to tell the smaller man about what he was more often than usual. The second was that the feelings he was trying to suppress were only getting stronger.

John sighed as he reflected on what had changed in the past month since Sherlock's little disappearing act. The man didn't eat anymore, slept even less, and John could swear the he had seen those grey-blue eyes turn a startling shade of crimson for a moment during one of their more heated discussions. Sherlock had spun around at John's shocked gasp, but when John had forced the man to look at him again the color was still the same blue-grey it always had been.

_I must be going mad._ He thought sullenly.

He was so deep in his thoughts he didn't notice the cab pull up beside him, or the man that threw the bag over his head, nor did he notice Geoff down the corner yelling his name as the cab drove off.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled, pounding on the vampire's door as hard as he could. "Sherlock open the bloody door!"

"What do you want Geoff?" Sherlock asked, flinging the door open angrily. Lestrade flinched but didn't back down.

"Why the hell did you let him off by himself? Have you lost your mind?" Lestrade was shouting in Sherlock's face, somehow leaning over him, causing the taller man to take a step back.

Sherlock's eyes were wide, his mouth falling open at the implication that something had happened. As thoughts of John's current predicament race through his head his eyes began to change color as a growl trickled out of his clenched teeth.

Lestrade grabbed his arms quickly trying to delay the wrath of the man in front of him. "Focus, Sherlock!" He said. "Find him."

"How?" Sherlock growled, his deep red eyes focusing on the grey haired man once more.

"You're not exactly human anymore Sherlock. Use those senses of yours." Geoff reminded him quietly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, focusing on John. His smell. His eyes snapped open, his eyes focused on something in the distance. He growled again. "Follow me."

Then he was gone, racing down the street, following John's scent through London, weaving through traffic and people with ease.

Lestrade smiled to himself, checking the tracker he had put on Sherlock's coat, knowing the man was never without it. "Go get your man Sherlock." He murmured.

John woke slowly, his head pounding. He groaned quietly, afraid to open his eyes, remembering what had happened. He remembered Geoff yelling for him as he was forced into the cab, therefore help would be coming soon.

"Finally awake I see." John's eyes shot open at the familiar voice behind him and he groaned again.

"Oh, great. You again." He glanced at his chest. "What? No bombs this time?"

Jim Moriarty came around to stand in front of him, smiling his cracked smile. "Boring."

John sighed. The man was even more off balance than the last time they had met.

"What do you want?" John asked tiredly. His head snapped to the side as Moriarty hit him with the gun in his hand. John's vision swan in little streamers for a second and he blinked rapidly to try to clear his vision.

"Ow." He muttered.

Jim smiled his crazy smile. "It's going to hurt worse Doctor Watson, I promise you that."

John turned his head as another man entered with a wicked looking knife. "Fuck," he stated simply.

Moriarty laughed.

Sherlock ran as fast as he dared in broad daylight, trying to hide his eyes he pulled a pair of sunglasses from a stand and slid them on, ignoring the shopkeepers yells. He wasn't too worried about Geoff being able to find him. He had felt the other man place the tracker on him and moved it to his pocket so it wouldn't fall off in his mad dash across London.

Sherlock looked up at the sky as a sharp crack of thunder sounded through the air almost before he saw the lightning. "Shit."

He ran faster, no longer caring if he scared the people around him with his speed.

_John please be okay.._

Sherlock found John right as a scream ripped through the air- John's scream- he felt himself snarling at the familiar stench of Moriarty. He leapt to the second floor of the abandoned house he had followed them to and crept through the window, not making a sound.

He slowly, quietly, made his way to where John was strapped to a surgery table, his face also strapped down, holding it still as a thick man with a heavy stench of liquor cut into John's cheek, drawing another muffled scream from him.

Sherlock growled and the man turned quickly, taking a step back as he caught sight of the creature in front of the door.

"What the hell-"

The question was cut off as Sherlock snapped his neck easily.

John was looking up at him, his eyes half closed in pain. Those beautiful blue eyes Sherlock loved looking at so much were murky with pain and Sherlock growled again, untying John and pulling him up.

"Can you walk?" He asked quietly, not wanting Moriarty to know he was here.

John shook his head no. "Can't focus enough." He replied just as quietly.

Sherlock grabbed him and picked him up bridal style, ignoring John's squeak of surprise.

"Hush," he told John soothingly. "I've got you. And I'm not letting go this time."

Sherlock was walking carefully down the stairs to the first floor when he caught a whiff of nasty from behind him. He stopped and sat John down gently. "One more thing to take care of, love." He told him, John's shocked eyes looking up at him, still hazy.

"Ah, Sherlock," Moriarty clapped his hands and smiled. "So good of you to join us."

Sherlock bared his teeth, canines long and very much visible to the other man, who took several steps back quickly before his back hit the wall. He looked from Sherlock's teeth to the startling crimson of his eyes. "What the hell are you?"

"Why does everyone ask me that?" He asked, more to himself than to the man cowering in front of him.

"Wait." Moriarty frowned, as if remembering something. "You're a-"

He was cut off as Sherlock wrapped a hand around his throat. "If you value your life you will not finish that thought." Sherlock growled in his ear.

"He'll find out one way or another Sherlock. You can't hide forever."

"He won't find out from you," Sherlock hissed in his ear and causally bent his head down a bit more, his nose brushing the shorter mans neck. "You smell absolutely revolting but I am quite hungry."

Moriarty whimpered quietly as Sherlock's teeth scratched his skin, then gasped as they sank in deeply.

John tried to focus on what was happening between the two men in front of him but his ears were ringing and his sight was blurry. He lay his head back against the wall and took a deep breath. And another. Slowly his sight cleared as did his hearing.

"You're a-"

"If you value your life you won't finish that thought."

"He'll find out one way or another Sherlock. You can't hide forever."

Sherlock hissed something in Moriarty's ear. There was fear creeping onto the man's face from whatever it was that Sherlock was saying, then a whimper, followed by a choked gasp.

After a moment Sherlock stepped back, tilted his head to the side slightly, then, almost casually, snapped Moriarty's neck, letting him fall to the floor.

He turned back to John slowly, his eyes scanning the area for more threats. John stared at him, eyes almost comically wide.

_Oh my god…_

_He's….he bit…there's blood.._

John's mind wasn't working properly anymore it seemed. It was stuck on the fact that there was blood trailing slowly down from the sides of Sherlock's mouth, that the man absently licked away, his eyes still scanning the darkened rooms around them. Then John saw his eyes. He'd seen that color before. It was the color of blood that came straight from the heart. A red so dark it was almost black. Then those frightening eyes focused on him and John forgot how to think.

_Oh crap._ Sherlock thought as he looked into John's clear and focused eyes. Eyes that were staring at him, staring at his eyes and mouth.

"John?" He asked quietly.

John jumped slightly, his gaze flickering away then back quickly, as if afraid to take his eyes off the creature before him. "Sherlock?" He asked as if not quite sure if that was who was in front of him.

"It's me John."

Confusion filled the blue eyes of the man on the floor. "How?" Seemed to be the only word he could think to say.

"Can we talk at home?" Sherlock asked hopefully, then turned and growled as a car door slammed outside.

"Sherlock!" Geoff Lestrade slammed the houses' front door open, hoping to give the vampire enough warning to hide his features or to control himself.

"Up here," came the reply from the staircase. Geoff ran as fast as he could to them hoping to get there before anyone else, knowing that he would find at least one man in here with bite marks on his neck.

"How many Sherlock?"

"Just one," Sherlock gestured to the man laying crumpled behind him.

"Here," Geoff handed Sherlock a pocket knife. "Try to make it look real."

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the body by the wall, slitting its throat cleanly, the wiped the blade on a spare piece of his clothing before handing it back to Lestrade.

John still just sat there, staring at Sherlock's eyes.

Geoff sighed heavily. "How much did he see?"

"Enough," came Sherlock's terse reply. Geoff looked over to him to see the man's shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow and his eyes downcast.

"He'll understand Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Look at him. He can't even look away for fear of me attacking him." Sherlock's voice was choked as if fighting tears.

John blinked as he realized he was being talked about. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock flinched like he had been hit. "I'm sorry John. I'll leave. You won't have to see me again," he said still not looking at John.

"Sherlock." His voice much closer than before.

Sherlock looked up, surprised to see John standing in front of him, holding onto Geoff's arm but standing.

"Sherlock," he said again, his hand reaching up to touch the pale man's face. Sherlock flinched again but didn't move away.

John paused, but continued the movement when Sherlock didn't disappear again. "You startled me is all."

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously. John smiled at him.

Sherlock leaned into the hand on his cheek, his eyes sliding closed as he rubbed his face into that warm palm. He sighed contentedly, and John's smile turned soft, even tender.

Lestrade smiled to himself.

"You really mean to tell me that Sherlock-" the name was stretched in disbelief,"- broke that man's neck and cut the other ones?" Sally Donovan asked, clearly not believing a single word John was saying to her.

"Yes, Sally. That's what I'm saying." This was the third time he had to go through this and it was getting tiring.

"Still scrubbing Anderson's carpets I see Donovan?" Sherlock asked from where he had appeared at John's side the moment she had looked away.

She turned to him startled, looking quickly to where she had just seen him talking to Lestrade on the other side of the room.

"And still forgetting to take your own personal items," the tall man added with a smirk as Sally huffed and stomped away.

"That was a bit not good Sherlock," John said, trying to keep a straight face and steady voice.

Sherlock shrugged. "She was bothering you."

"You bother me too sometimes, Sherlock. Are you going to run yourself off?" John asked with a smile that was turned away from the man beside him.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "That's different," he replied.

John snorted.

"Alright, Sherlock." Geoff rounded on him the moment John had left to use the bathroom. "You are going to explain this to him yes?"

Sherlock looked away and nodded. "Of course."

Geoff's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock.."

"Yes, yes, alright." Sherlock held his hands up in surrender. "I'll talk to him."

"Good."

"Talk to me about what?"

John walked slowly into the kitchen, coming to a stop next to Sherlock, looking up into the man's face, trying to read the thoughts behind those blue-grey eyes.

"Nothing." Came the immediate response from the taller man.

Lestrade kicked him under the table. The look in his eyes telling the dark haired man _if you don't tell him I will_.

Sherlock sighed. "We need to talk, John."

John blinked after they had finished explaining everything to him. "Wow," was the only thought he could voice.

He was kind of annoyed the Geoff had found out before him. But he understood Sherlock's reluctance to tell him. He would have felt the same if the situations had been reversed.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, not looking at him.

John ignored him for a moment. They had even told how Geoff had known what was happening and he understood why the man had fallen for a vampire.

_He's even more beautiful than he was before._

Sherlock looked at him sharply, eyes widening slightly. And Lestrade narrowed his eyes.

They had talked about what powers Sherlock had and what ones might develop. Including the possibility of mind reading. Obviously it had developed.

Lestrade smiled a knowing smile and stood. "I'll just leave you two to talk then, shall I?"

Neither man acknowledged him.

He sighed and let himself out.

_Why is he staring at me? Do I have something on my face? God he's gorgeous. _ John's thoughts were chaotic.

And Sherlock heard every one of them.

Sherlock was looking at the man in front of him with awe and confusion in his face.

John was lost in a fantasy world involving a certain man's teeth, a slow blush rising to his cheeks.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, his own cheeks reddening slightly, his eyes unfocused and his breathing becoming erratic. "John…"

John turned quickly, thinking something was wrong until he saw the expression on his flat mates face.

His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. _ Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He berated himself_. They just bloody told me then I go off to fantasy land with him right next to me. God I'm an idiot._

"Sherlock, I-" he was cut off as a pair of hands grabbed his face and pulled him forward, Sherlock's forehead resting against his own. The taller man sighed in content, his eyes sliding shut as he nuzzled John's ears, which had turned beet red when he had realized Sherlock could hear his thoughts.

John moaned as Sherlock nipped his earlobe softly, experimentally.

_God, yes, Sherlock. More._

Sherlock grinned.

John raised his hands to wrap around the vampire's shoulders as he straightened, lifting John easily as he stood.

John squeaked as he was lifted and carried to Sherlock's bedroom. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?" Sherlock was still nuzzling him.

"Um." John lost his train of thought as Sherlock nipped his neck. "Oh god.." He moaned, tilting his head back.

Sherlock smiled against John's neck, nipping harder, chuckling as John went limp in his arms, sounds coming from his mouth he would deny making later on.

"Please Sherlock.." John begged.

Sherlock frowned. "I can't. I can't bite you." He said sorrowfully.

John was panting as he brought his head down to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, an idea forming in his mind. "Put me down."

John ran to his room and grabbed his knife from its hiding place under his pillow. No need to bite now.

Sherlock smiled when he saw when John had grabbed. He took it from him gently as John lay back on the bed.

"You're not too attached to this shirt are you?" Sherlock asked, twirling the blade like an expert. John shook his head absently, not really hearing what was being said. He had always had a fascination with sharp, shiny things.

Sherlock grinned.

John's head fell back onto Sherlock's pillow as the taller man drew the very sharp blade up John's still clothed chest.

John's breathing was already ragged with the thought of what was going to happen. "God, Sherlock.." he moaned.

Sherlock turned the blade suddenly and with a sharp gesture sliced through John's shirt and undershirt. John gasped as the pieces fell to the sides of him. He looked up when he felt Sherlock stop moving.

Sherlock was staring at John's chest in shock.

"When did..?"

John laughed quietly. "A long time ago Sherlock," John replied.

Sherlock was staring at the nipple and belly button rings John had, his eyes darkening to that deep crimson John had seen after Sherlock had killed Moriarty. It sent chills through him to see that gaze directed at him.

"Mm." Sherlock hummed as he leaned down to John's chest slowly.

John jerked as Sherlock's tongue flickered over the nipple ring, a deep moan escaping his throat.

"Sensitive I take it?"

John shuddered as the black haired man's breath ghosted over his nipple. "Very.. God, yes, very."

Sherlock smiled his evil smile as he tugged sharply on the silver ring, John yelping loudly, his hips thrusting into the air, a long moan following Sherlock's laugh.

"Stop teasing you arse." John growled, reaching for Sherlock and pulling his face closer. He paused with their mouths inches apart, breath caressing each other's lips. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, bringing their lips together gently, his hands caressing John's cheek and neck gently.

John whimpered and scooted closer to the other man, his arms wrapping around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned and deepened the kiss, coaxing John's mouth open gently, his tongue teasing the other mans to come play.

Sherlock laid John down on the bed, not breaking the kiss, his hands smoothing down the sides of the man beneath him. John shuddered at the feather light touches, his body begging for more.

John broke away from the kiss and grabbed the knife that was by Sherlock's knee. He ran the blade up his own sternum, the blood flowing freely.

Sherlock hissed above him, eyes clamped shut. "John.."

John shushed him. "I trust you, Sherlock."

"You shouldn't." Sherlock shuddered and opened his eyes, his focus immediately shifting to John's chest. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down, his breath ghosting along John's chest making him shiver.

"Tell me if I get too rough?" Sherlock asked desperately, glancing up at him, his eyes drowning pools of red, pupils blown wide.

John nodded quickly. "Of course."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut as he turned back to John's chest, his tongue snaking out to lick the top of the wound.

John hissed and threw his head back, his hands digging into Sherlock's black curls. "Oh god.." he moaned as he arched his chest toward Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock savored the taste of John, so sweet, so rich. He moaned leaning down to lap at the wound, feeling John's hand in his hair, tugging gently. He could hear John moaning above him, felt him jerk in surprise when he latched on and sucked hard, heard the stuttered breath that followed.

Gods how he wanted to bite into him, but he knew he couldn't. Sherlock couldn't risk it.

He didn't know if he had the control to stop before he took too much, like he had with Moriarty, though that was on purpose.

John was tugging more insistently now and Sherlock raised his head slowly, his eyes still drowning and his mouth hanging open, blood dripping from his bottom lip.

John groaned at the sight, heat coiling low in his stomach. He pulled Sherlock's head up and kissed him hard, bruising those soft lips, eating at his mouth as he rolled them, straddling Sherlock's hips and rocking gently. They both groaned at the contact.

"John.." Sherlock sighed, his hands rubbing John's hips as they rocked into him. He could feel his fangs touching his lips as he lost his control bit by bit. He moaned at a hard thrust by John and jerked his head away roughly, growling low in his throat as John started biting down his neck, not bothering to be gentle.

Sherlock slid his eyes open and spotted the railing at the head of the bed. He reached out with both hands and locked his fingers around it.

John practically ripped Sherlock's shirt off of him, losing a couple buttons in his haste.

He was pretty sure Sherlock hadn't seen his back yet. He felt that if he had, John would be on his stomach right now, which he wouldn't mind, but he wanted to taste the man beneath him.

Sherlock picked up on John's stray thoughts about his back and he frowned, wondering what he was talking about. He tilted his head up slightly as John was licking his collar bones and peered over the hunched shoulders. _ Oh my god…_ his head fell back and he moaned loud and long.

On John's back, covering most of it from what Sherlock could see was an intricate tribal tattoo. Wings to be more precise. Beautiful wings.

_Oops.._ Thought John as Sherlock leaned up. John knew what he was looking for so he brought his head down to lick at the collar bones in front of him. He chuckled when Sherlock moaned and let his head fall back.

John glanced up when heard a creaking noise and saw that Sherlock had warped the metal of the headboard, his knuckles whiter than the rest of him as he gripped the bars. He had also bitten into his bottom lip with his fangs, blood rolling slowly down his chin unnoticed.

John tilted his head to the side slightly, his expression curious.

He leaned up and licked at Sherlock's mouth, the tang of copper on his tongue more welcome than he thought it would be.

Sherlock whimpered into John's mouth, releasing his grip of the railing with one hand to bring it to cup John's cheek.

John was tugging at Sherlock's belt anxious to get the other man's pants off. He broke the kiss scooting down the long legs under him, fingers working at the belt quickly.

Sherlock's stomach jerked with every loop the belt was pulled out of and he moaned when John finally undid the button and zipper and began pulling them down his legs, taking his boxers with him.

Then John's weight on his legs was gone. Sherlock opened his eyes and watched John strip himself of the remainder of his clothes. He noticed another tattoo, smaller, around his ankle. It looked almost like thorns wrapped around him.

"Please, John."

John crawled back over him letting his body slide into place, both of them moaning at the contact. John leaned up and nibbled on Sherlock's ear. "Have you ever done this before?" He asked softly.

Sherlock shook his head no, not able to form words at the moment.

"I'll be gentle, then," John said with a soft smile.

"God, no, please don't be." _Anything but gentle, please.._ Sherlock thought to himself.

"Alright then," John replied, reaching to his pants to pull out the lube he had grabbed when he grabbed his knife.

He slicked his fingers quickly, eager to be inside the man below him, and brought one to the vampire's entrance, rubbing gently as Sherlock squirmed.

"Please, John," Sherlock repeated.

Sherlock was lost in sensations as John teased his entrance and he hissed and the older man slid a finger into him. John shushed him, telling him to relax, that it would feel better soon.

Sherlock trusted him so he did as he was told. As he relaxed John started moving his finger back and forth slowly, as if looking for something.

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he gasped. "What-"

John smiled, pleased with this reaction. "That was your prostate, love."

Sherlock groaned as John brushed that spot again. He didn't even notice that John had added a second finger, scissoring them to try to loosen the taller man up.

"This might be easier for you to be on your stomach, Sherlock."

"No! No, this is fine. I want to see you." He finished softly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

John was having a difficult time trying to hold himself back. It took almost everything he had to not just thrust into Sherlock without any prep being done.

"Are you ready, Sherlock?" He asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed.

John slicked himself up and got into position. "Look at me, love. Focus on me."

Sherlock obeyed, his deep red eyes zeroing in on John's face.

John groaned as he started easing into the man beneath him. _So tight…Good god so tight and hot…_

His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he finally slid that last bit in and held as still as possible, waiting for Sherlock to adjust.

Sherlock had gripped the railing again, his fingers straining not to bend the metal any further. He hissed as John stopped, fully sheathed inside him.

He focused on his breathing , willing himself to be calm, to relax.

Slowly the pain faded, replaced with a slow pleasure he had never felt before, more heat coiling in his stomach, making him twitch his hips slightly.

"Shit," John said breathlessly, his hands snapping to Sherlock's hips and holding him still.

Sherlock watched John's face as he did it again, slowly thrusting into John.

The shorter man threw his head back and groaned deep in his chest. "You trying to kill me?" he asked, panting.

Sherlock smiled, "Not yet."

John started thrusting slowly, so slowly, drawing sighs and gasps from his pale lover. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist and yanked him forward, burying him deep inside as the both moaned.

"Alright then," John muttered, snapping his hips as Sherlock writhed for him, the metal bar under his hands bending in odd shapes that John would have to look at later.

He shifted his legs and tilted Sherlock's hip a bit, then thrust in again.

"Oh god!" Sherlock cried, his back arching off the bed completely. "Again!" he demanded.

John was more than happy to comply.

Sherlock was moaning almost constantly now, hips moving with John's own, both of their breathing becoming erratic as they got closer to the edge.

Sherlock moaned low in his throat and bit through his lip as he came hard, John's name a whisper on his lips. John following soon after with a muffled scream of Sherlock's name.

John collapsed on Sherlock's chest, exhausted. "That was.."

"Amazing," Sherlock finished, wrapping his arms around john's shoulders and holding him tight, nuzzling his face into the sandy blonde hair in front of his nose.

"I love you, John." He murmured quietly.

John smiled against his chest, hugging Sherlock closer.

"Love you too."

ok so obviously not the best but... anyway i do have a second chapter written (mostly) i can and will finish/post it if people tell me... so review and let me know

Ok the links i keep trying to put here for John's tatoo are not working...go to my profile


	2. Chapter 2

Again. Not mine. Therefore, no suing.

And I'm sorry for the late addition but I got a bit distracted with other plots….

And yes that means I will have other stories up soon.

**Chapter 2**

Sherlock sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest as he rested his head on them.

"So bored," he said, looking across table to where John was seated working on his most current blog entry.

John glanced up at him, then back down to the laptop sitting on the table. "Call Lestrade. See if he has anything for you." At least he wasn't bored enough to start shooting the wall again.

Sherlock frowned and sent a quick text.

_Going nuts here. About to start terrorizing innocents. Give me something to do._

_-SH_

John looked at him again. "I didn't say to threaten him," he told the dark haired man.

Sherlock feigned innocence. "I didn't."

John looked at his phone as it beeped at him.

_Keep him there until I get there._

_-GL_

Sherlock growled as John passed the phone to him, and then huffed. "I wasn't really going to," he muttered.

John rolled his eyes.

Geoff sighed as he got out of the cab in front of 221b, squinting in the brightness of the streetlights. He glanced at his watch. 9:30pm. He turned at the sound of another car pulling up behind him, his eyes widening a as a tall man got out of the car.

"Mycroft Holmes," he breathed. _Beautiful._ He thought to himself.

Mycroft looked at him closely. "Detective Inspector Geoff Lestrade. Pleasure meeting you here." He sounded sincere. It also sounded a bit like a question.

"Your brother." Came the response.

Mycroft nodded knowingly. "Mm. Yes, he can be a bit of a handful."

Geoff snorted. "You have no idea how true that is right now."

Mycroft looked at him oddly but said nothing.

Sherlock could smell someone at the door so he leapt to his feet before the knock, opening it. He frowned, yanked Geoff in and slammed it shut in his brother's startled face.

Leaning his head against it he took deep breaths, trying get his eyes to go back to normal. _God the smell…so good…_

"Sherlock?" John asked from the stairs.

Geoff looked up at him and sighed. "Mycroft is here."

"Ah." With that John sent a quick look at Sherlock's face, more specifically his eyes, and told him to wait in the kitchen.  
>Sherlock nodded and disappeared up the stairs.<p>

John opened the door with an apologetic smile, Mycroft waving it off. "I know what he's like no need to apologize for him."

"Stop terrorizing my flat mate and tell me what you came here for Mycroft," Sherlock yelled from the kitchen, sounding more peevish than usual.

"Come on up, then," John invited, waving the taller man past him.

Mycroft sat himself in John's chair, much to Sherlock's annoyance, and tried to catch his brother's eyes, which were focused intently on the table.

Sherlock was trying so hard to not look at his older brother; he knew his eyes were still red so he kept them locked on the table with a scowl on his face.

Mycroft looked at the other two men in the flat, their faces telling him that they knew what was wrong but weren't going to say anything until Sherlock did. "Alright, Sherlock. What's going on?"

Sherlock looked up, and then back down as quickly as he could but he wasn't fast enough. Mycroft was on his feet and had the blade that hid in his umbrella handle pointed at Sherlock's throat.

"Explain." Mycroft demanded, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Sherlock slowly stood and lifted his head, his eyes narrowed and burning with anger.

"Sherlock, calm down," John said, coming up to wrap his arms around the angry man. Before he could Sherlock was behind Mycroft, his long canines too close to the skin of his brother's neck, strong arms wrapped around the other mans torso like iron bands. The umbrella handle dropped to the floor in Mycroft's surprise.

"What do you want to know, Mycroft?" He whispered in the ear next to his mouth. "You want to know how lax your security has gotten? How they missed your little brother getting attacked in an alley by some kind of creature?"

Mycroft looked at Lestrade, his eyes slightly wider than usual but his face calm. "You won't hurt me Sherlock." He tilted his head as if to prove that point. "You won't hurt your only brother."

Sherlock closed his eyes and nuzzled into the neck offered to him, inhaling deeply. "Don't be so sure dear brother. You smell so good; I might not be able to help myself."

**  
><em>Oh, god. He's going to kill him.<em> Was the only thought running through Geoff's mind. "Sherlock!" He said sharply, drawing the other man's attention to him. Lestrade pulled himself to his full height and drew his gun. Aiming at the vampire's forehead he spoke, voice devoid of all emotion, "Back off, Sherlock, or I will shoot you." He paused, adjusting his aim, then said more quietly, "Silver rounds, you will heal human slow."

Sherlock growled deep in his chest, his arms tightening painfully around the human locked in them. He glared at the grey haired man with the gun, knowing it wouldn't kill him but it would probably hurt for a bit, considering the other man was now pointing at his shoulder.

"Sherlock," came the tentative voice from beside the couch where he had been sitting. Sherlock's eyes flashed to John's own, seeing the beginning of fear growing in them. Seeing that was enough to bring him out of the bloodlust, enough to release the man in his arms and stagger away, breathing harshly.

"Oh, god.." he moaned quietly, curling into himself where he had fallen to the floor.

Geoff's heart almost stopped when Sherlock growled at him, no human emotion left in that beautiful face, only an animal out for blood.

When Sherlock threw himself back away from Mycroft, Geoff let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and walked to the older Holmes brother. Laying a hand on the man's arm, he asked, "You alright?" Mycroft looked dazed for a moment before his eyes focused and cleared. He looked at Lestrade blankly.

"Did he break skin?" Geoff clarified, giving the man's neck a once-over. "Are you bleeding?"

Mycroft shook his head, leaning down to pick up his blade from where it had fallen. "No."

Geoff holstered his gun and brought his hands up to hold Mycroft face, looking into his eyes and seeing the shock and fear that was hidden there. Mycroft froze, eyes going wide.

John watched all this with surprise on his features, remembering now that the vampire Geoff had fallen in love with had in fact been male. _Huh…_

Lestrade was staring at the man in front of him in something like shock, never before realizing how much this man looked like his vampire lover had. There were differences though. A slight difference in height, Mycroft had a slightly leaner build, his eyes were different.

A choked sob broke the spell that had captured the two men as Sherlock shuddered on the floor, John leaning over him, trying to offer comfort.

Mycroft looked back at Lestrade, a question burning in his blue eyes.

"He's a vampire," Geoff told him quietly. "He shut the door in your face because he didn't think he could control himself around you." He paused. "I guess he was right."

Mycroft looked back down at the broken man on the floor and sighed.

"Sherlock?" He asked kneeling down next to his brother. " Sherlock, I'm fine. You didn't hurt me."

Sherlock drew his arms around himself tighter and scooted as far as he could to the wall, his body rocking slowly, his crimson eyes wild.

"I could have," came the muffled response.

"You didn't."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed tightly and tried to breath.

"Sherlock, look at me," Mycroft demanded, sitting on his feet in front of the smaller man.

Sherlock shook his head frantically. "Can't."

Mycroft sighed. "Please."

Sherlock's eyes popped open, the red draining from them in shock. Mycroft never asked. Never said please. At least not to him.

Mycroft looked at him closely. "You didn't hurt me Sherlock," he told him softly.

Sherlock choked back another sob and flung himself at his brother, strong arms wrapping around Mycroft's chest, his own chest heaving in wracking sobs. Mycroft could only make out a couple words of what Sherlock was muttering. "Sorry, sorry, so sorry." Over and over. He wrapped his arms around his little brother and held on tight, riding out the storm.

Sherlock was curled up on John's lap, well, as much as he could be with their height differences.

Mycroft and Lestrade were avoiding each other's eyes as much as they could, both still mildly embarrassed about that moment earlier.

Sherlock frowned suddenly, lifting his head and looking at his brother curiously. "Why did you come here, Mycroft?"

Mycroft started slightly. He had forgotten. "Because they lost you."

They all knew who he meant except Lestrade, who looked at John for an explanation.

"Mycroft has both myself and Sherlock under surveillance." John explained quickly.

Lestrade nodded sagely. Of course he had them watched, as often as Sherlock liked to run off on his own and not tell anyone where he was going. He frowned as he thought of something. Sherlock looked at him quickly, giving his head a small shake to keep Geoff quiet. Lestrade sighed, but nodded.

_If you don't hunt this will happen when you have no one to stop you._ He sent the thought out at Sherlock, hoping he would catch it, the slight glazing of the other mans eyes confirming success. _Next time it might happen when it's just you and John._ He added trying to get the point across.

Sherlock looked panicked for a moment, turning pleading eyes on Lestrade. _Help me!_ Those eyes shouted at him.

Lestrade sighed again, standing up. "Sherlock I need to speak to you, could you come for a walk with me?"

Sherlock rose at once. "Of course."

Before John could protest, Sherlock grabbed Geoff's arm and leapt out the window. Mycroft was on his feet and to the open window before John had registered what had happened.

John's phone beeped.

_Tell him I'm fine, Sherlock is just wound up at the moment. I'm taking him out to f-_

The text cut off mid word. F? Mycroft read over his shoulder. "Feed."

John looked up at him in confusion. "Feed?"

"From what I know of vampires, they cannot survive on human food. Most can't even tolerate it. He has to have blood John. He won't survive without it." Mycroft explained softly.

"Oh," John looked down at his phone again. "Right."

Mycroft had nearly had a heart attack when Sherlock drug Geoff out the window. He had sighed in relief when John had received the text.

He had no idea why he was having these feelings for that man. He knew what they were of course but he had always ignored them, which seemed impossible this time.

When Geoff had held his face earlier he had almost leaned in and brushed their mouths together. He had already been leaning forward when his brother had made that broken sound.

_What in the world is happening to me?_

**  
>Sherlock raced through the alleyways, not sure where he was going, just following Lestrade's unspoken directions.<p>

They seemed to be heading towards a homeless area. The homeless junkies.

"Here is fine," Lestrade gasped as he glanced around. He had given up trying to get Sherlock to slow down and just held on for dear life. God how he hated when they Ran like that.

"You want me to feed on one of these people?" Sherlock asked, eyebrow raised.

Geoff nodded. "They are all junkies Sherlock. They barely remember their own names, they won't remember your eyes or your teeth."

He had a point.

"Stay here then," Sherlock told him, then was gone.

Sherlock flitted through the sleeping men and women around him, following his nose to the wonderful smell just on the other side of this trash bin. He slowed to a stop then peeked around the corner at the sleeping man sitting there. Sherlock was very glad the John wasn't with him. He had no control of his actions as he got down to his knees and lifted the man slowly, tilting his head to the side, careful not to wake him.

As his teeth sank into the man's flesh he moaned at the taste. So much better than the bags Lestrade had left for him.

Geoff had told him that he couldn't turn someone into a vampire with just a bite, that he had to give them blood in return. For that he was grateful. Of course, he did wish Geoff would have told him that the day he was turned or shortly after, that way he wouldn't have had to be so careful with John. There had been a scare not more than two weeks ago when Sherlock had almost gone too far.

They had been fooling around in the sitting room, John in his lap as they kissed, their hands running over their still clothed bodies. John had tipped his head back as he rocked his hips, moaning loudly.

Sherlock had lost focus for a second, red bleeding into his eyes and his teeth sharpening, he had leaned up, licking John's throat, nipping softly, his mouth trailing down to where neck met shoulder, kissing through the fabric of John's heavy shirt.

John had slid his hands into Sherlock's hair. "Please, Sherlock," he had moaned.

Sherlock had bitten down, almost through John's shirt, the heavy material enough to stop him from breaking skin but not enough to stop the teeth marks in his lover's shoulder.

John still rubbed his neck there sometimes, without thought, like he was rubbing an old wound. It still made Sherlock cringe in shame.

He brought himself back to the present, to the body he had slid to rest against the wall gently, as if to thank him for his generosity.

Lestrade stood awkwardly in the dark, straining his ears for any sign of Sherlock's return. Hearing footsteps behind him he turned, his eyes narrowing at Sherlock's hunched shoulders and distant gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock looked up at him slowly, sadness and self-loathing in his gaze.

"Sherlock?"

"I almost went too far with him, Geoff," was the soft reply. Sherlock looked away and began to explain.

"Just remember Sherlock, it won't hurt him. Just make sure he doesn't get any of your blood in his mouth and your fine." Lestrade told him dismissively.

Sherlock looked at him sideways. "Speaking from experience?"

Geoff blushed. "Yes," he muttered, looking away.

Sherlock chuckled, as he opened the door to his flat.

"Where the hell where you two?" Came the shouts from the two men they had left behind. Both Sherlock and Lestrade halted, looking at their feet.

"I wasn't going to eat him if that's what you were worried about," Sherlock muttered.

"Um," Geoff started.

"Go home, Geoff," Sherlock told him, looking at Mycroft carefully. Sherlock's eyes widened suddenly and he looked at Lestrade, head tilted to the side in thought, his eyes weeping up and down the man's form. "I see what you mean, brother," he said more to himself then to the man coming down the stairs. Mycroft froze mid-step, losing his balance. Before he had a chance to fall, Geoff was there, an arm wrapped around the taller man's waist.

"You alright, Mr. Holmes?"

"Mycroft," he responded automatically, turning his head to look at the detective, their noses almost brushing they were so close.

Sherlock cleared his throat loudly. Lestrade jumped back like he had been shot, pulling Mycroft to his feet then releasing him quickly. "Sorry," he said, looking anywhere but at Sherlock or his brother.

John and Sherlock shared a smile, both knowing that it wouldn't be long before those two got together.

Geoff was blushing as he led Mycroft out to his car, the other man still unsteady from his near fall.

"Thank you, Geoff," Mycroft said quietly, stopping in front of his door as he turned to face the detective.

"Anytime," Geoff replied just as soft. He gave into the urge to raise his hand and place it on Mycroft's cheek gently. He tilted the taller man's face up a bit, looking into his eyes, seeing the want that was reflected in his own. He leaned forward and grazed his lips against Mycroft's, the other man letting out a soft sound of surprise, before his eyes slid shut and he leaned into Geoff slightly, bringing his hands up to cup his face as he deepened the kiss.

"Sir."

Mycroft broke away, turning to look at Anthea, the woman staring at him with a knowing smile on her face, her Blackberry held forgotten in her hand for once. "We need to be going, Sir."

"Right," he replied, turning back to the flustered detective.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Mycroft cut him off with another gentle kiss as he slid a card into the man's coat pocket.

"You have my direct number, Geoff. Call me." With that he got into the car leaving Geoff standing on the curb, his face bright red but holding a wide smile.

Sherlock smiled as Geoff practically shouted his happiness out loud as he walked back into the flat, having forgotten that he was supposed to be leaving.

"So?" John prompted, seeing the huge smile on the man's face.

"I kissed him," Lestrade said, looking up. "And he kissed me back."

John grinned. "Good."

Sherlock groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Great. Just what this city needs. A happy Mycroft."

Both John and Lestrade laughed.

Geoff unlocked his front door, went in and shut it behind, not bothering to turn the lights on. He hung his coat up and tossed his keys into the candy dish on the kitchen table.

When he did turn the lights on he went into the living room to watch the telly for a bit before he headed to bed.

He froze in the living room doorway, eyes widening as he took in the man sitting in his chair.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He paused. "And how did you get in?"

Sherlock smirked at him, tilting his head to the side.

Lestrade sighed, "You're right. I don't want to know."

"As for what I'm doing here, I've come to ask you about your intentions for my dear brother."

Geoff raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"He's never been with anyone, Geoff." Sherlock told him seriously. "He doesn't know what to do or how to act."

"Really?" Geoff asked in shock. _Surely a man like that had at least had offers_.

"Yes he has but he has never taken any of them."

Geoff frowned. "I really wish you wouldn't do that.

"Sorry," was the insincere response.

"Why is it only me that you are able to read so easy? Why can't it be John?" Geoff asked, throwing his hands in the air and flopping onto his couch.

"As for my intentions toward your brother? I have none. Whatever he wants to happen will happen. It's up to him," Lestrade told him honestly.

"Yet you are the one that kissed him?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

Lestrade grinned. "Of course. How else was he going to know I was interested? He seemed to be just as oblivious as you when it comes to people's feelings."

Sherlock glared at him. "How was I oblivious? And to whose feelings?"

"You were oblivious to the fact that the good doctor you cared so deeply about felt the same way. The only difference being he hadn't yet realized said feelings."

Mycroft sat at his desk completely lost in thought, even as Anthea came to tell him she was going home for the night, he only waved her off, not saying anything. He was focused on what had happened that day. Not just Geoff, but what had happened to his brother as well.

"My brother is a vampire," he stated to the empty room, letting the words roll around on his tongue.

He smirked to himself. "And I'm lusting after his unofficial boss."

_2 months later_

Sherlock and Mycroft had grown closer in the past two months, spending their time talking rather than arguing. Sherlock told him what all he had learned about being a vampire and Mycroft told him what he was currently scheming.

Mycroft also told him about the developments between himself and DI Lestrade. Things were progressing slowly, their relationship mostly consisting of them talking, taking walks, or just sitting in for the night kissing and cuddling on Geoff's couch.

Sherlock instructed his brother to not tell him any details and in return he would do the same kindness.

They had both agreed enthusiastically.

One evening, Geoff was walking Mycroft to his car after a quick dinner at Angelo's. Geoff had told the elder Holmes he wouldn't be available for the rest of the night, that he had a case he had to work through.

Mycroft sighed as they waited for a traffic light to turn green, it did and they kept walking. He was thinking about how Geoff would feel if asked to move in with him. Wondered how to tell the other man that he had grown to love him.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the blaring horns behind him, didn't hear Geoff yell, and didn't see the absolute horror on his face as a car ran the red light, careening through traffic. Didn't even feel it hit him, didn't feel himself hit the ground, couldn't see all the blood flowing from his nose and mouth, and didn't hear the crack of his bones as they shattered. All he felt was numbness. All he saw was darkness.  
>**<p>

Sherlock's phone was ringing but he didn't want to get out of bed. He was perfectly happy staying wrapped around John's sleeping form, his fingers running over the tattoo covering his back.

When the ringing was finally enough to wake John, he sighed and rolled out of the bed.

"Hello?" he said angrily as he flipped the phone open, not bothering to look at the ID.

"Sherlock? Sherlock he's hurt, I don't think he'll make it to a hospital I need you to come help me."

It was Lestrade, he sounded completely lost, like he didn't have any idea what to do or where to go.

"Who's hurt Geoff? Where are you?"

"We're just outside Angelo's," Geoff told him, the sound if his panic fading a bit. But then it was back as he said the next words. "It's Mycroft."

Sherlock dropped the phone and disappeared.

No more than 2 minutes had passed before Sherlock was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, then he was at Mycroft's side, turning his face, running his hands over his arms and down his legs, already knowing what had happened. Then Sherlock was lifting him into his strong arms, despite Geoff's yells to leave him be.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, nostrils flaring at the scent of all the blood on his brother. His tongue flicked out grabbing a drop, then his eyes shot open and he grabbed Geoff's arms, then PUSHED with his legs and they were flying through the streets.

The next time Geoff dared to open his eyes, Sherlock had his forehead pressed to his brothers, his eyes tightly closed.

Mycroft's eyelids were fluttering, like he was dreaming, but Lestrade knew better. Sherlock was talking to him. It was an ability very few vampires ever gained. They had found it out by accident at a crime scene when Sherlock was picturing some not so nice things to do to John when Geoff had yelled at them to get a room.

"Well?" He asked as Sherlock stepped back, his eyes opening slowly.

He shook his head and his eyes cleared. "If John says he cannot be saved, he will let me Turn him."

Then he was gone again, leaving Geoff alone with the dying man.

"Sherlock? What happened to Mycroft? Is he okay?" John asked as soon as his lover came back in the window.

"He was hit by a car. He's dying. I need you." Sherlock responded in monotone.

John was glad he had gotten dressed when Sherlock left earlier. He didn't think he would have had time now as the vampire grabbed his arm, swung him around to his back and told him to hold on tight.

Geoff Lestrade had only been this scared once in his life. It had been when the council had started hunting his vampire lover.

He jumped to his feet as John stumbled into the room, eyes wide from the run here. The shorter man walked shakily to Mycroft's side, shoulders already hunching over. He didn't even have to touch him to know there was nothing that could be done.

John turned back to Lestrade and pulled the man into a hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered in his ear, the grey haired man breaking down finally, letting the tears flow freely.

Sherlock stood in the doorway silently, staring at his dying brother, his eyes unfocused.

_Can you still hear me brother?_ He asked silently.

_Yes Sherlock. I can hear you._ Was the faint response. _Who is crying Sherlock? What happened?_

Sherlock felt the tears begin to sting his eyes as he moved closer to his brother, wiping the blood away from his face gently.

_Geoff is crying for you. You were hit by a car._

_Am I going to be okay?_

Sherlock choked back a sob and brought his forehead to rest against his brothers again. _No._

_Oh._ Mycroft's 'voice' was getting fainter.

_There is one option left Mycroft. I could Turn you. Make you like me. A vampire._

_Will I be able to stay with him?_

_Of course, dear brother. Of course._ Sherlock smiled gently eyes still closed.

_Then do it Sherlock._

Geoff was watching Sherlock talk to his brother and noticed the small smile that graced his mouth.

"What did he say Sherlock?" he asked through his tears.

Sherlock turned to him, his eyes bleeding to red as he spoke. "He has agreed to be Turned on one condition."

"What? Anything, whatever he wants I will get for him." Lestrade replied immediately.

Sherlock smiled. "He wants you to stay with him."

Geoff's eyes went wide. "he does?" Sherlock nodded.

Geoff smiled widely. "Done."

"John? Do you want to step out for this?" Geoff asked quietly as Sherlock walked to the head of the table Mycroft was laid out on.

John shook his head. "No. I want to see this. I want to know how it's done."

"It's not very pretty, I can tell you that," Geoff told him, remembering the blood and screams from when he found Sherlock.

"I know."

Geoff shrugged, turning back to Sherlock and his brother.

"Suit yourself."

John really wanted to leave right then but he didn't want Sherlock to be left without support.

He watched as the lanky man leaned down, turning his brother's head to the side, exposing his neck. Watched as Sherlock opened his mouth wide, fangs shining in the light from the dining room lamp.

Watched as those fangs sank into Mycroft's neck like a hot knife through butter, the unconscious man flinching even in his sleep.

Geoff stepped forward to grab his boyfriend's hand but was stopped by a low growl and a pair of deep red eyes glaring at him. He held his hands up in surrender, walking back to stand once again with John.

Mycroft was getting more and more pale by the second, his head falling to the side further as he went completely limp.

"Sherlock," Geoff said bringing that crimson gaze to himself once again. "Sherlock, you're killing him. Stop."

Sherlock growled again, his hands clenching around his brother's shoulders.

"Sherlock?" John queried, those eyes focusing on him. Slowly that gaze started to gain emotion. Slowly, Sherlock pulled back, Mycroft's blood dripping down his chin.

Quickly his pulled his sleeve up and bit into his wrist, bringing it to Mycroft's mouth and rubbing the pale man's throat, forcing him to swallow.

Gradually, Mycroft's hands came up to hold his wrist in place; his eyes shut tightly, his throat working fast.

Sherlock gasped as his brother took control, his head falling back at the totally inappropriate feelings traveling up his arm. He moaned low in his throat, wondering why it felt so good.

"Enough," he rasped. "Enough, Mycroft." He carefully tugged his wrist away.

His brother fell back to the table, back arching, hands clenched on the edges. Sherlock could hear his bones snapping back into place. At least he hadn't had any injuries when he was turned. This must be even more painful.  
>Sherlock turned to look at his lover and his friend, both still standing by the door. John looked…well to be honest, he looked a bit aroused, a slow flush rolling up his neck to grace his cheeks, his breathing shallow, hands clenched at his sides.<p>

Geoff shuddered as Mycroft thrashed around on the table, his bones snapping into place loudly. He took two steps toward Mycroft, halfway through his third when Sherlock grabbed his arm, yanking him away. "You know better than that," the taller man said quietly. "Aren't you the one that had me in a cell, strapped to a table when I woke up?"

John turned his head sharply. "What?"

"Speaking of which," Sherlock ignored his lover. "How long did it take? For me to wake up I mean."

Geoff frowned as he thought about it. "Um, maybe 6 hours tops? It will probably take less for him because you took more blood than she did."

"She?" John practically shouted.

Sherlock and Geoff looked at him as if they had forgotten he was even there.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, "Did we not tell him about that?"

Geoff shook his head. "No, I don't think we did."

"No you bloody well did not!" John looked furious, his face red and his breathing labored.

"Later, love." Sherlock told him, turning to look at his brother closely.

"Geoff, go get some blood please." He pushed John out the door quickly. "Out. Now."

"What? Why?" John asked, confused.

"He's waking up already." Sherlock replied, his voice dropping to a growl as his brothers eyes opened, the deep red gaze locked on John's neck.

Geoff grabbed two bags of blood and ran as fast as he could back to the living room, sliding to a stop at the low growl coming from Sherlock. Geoff followed his eyes and gasped as he saw Mycroft sitting up already, his eyes the same red as Sherlock's own.

Sherlock had pushed John behind him protectively, his arms blocking Geoff from walking any further into the room.

"Drop the blood and back out slowly," Sherlock told them quietly, not taking his eyes off his brother.

Geoff was staring at Mycroft, his thoughts whirling 'round his head too fast to comprehend. _So beautiful._ Geoff thought distractedly.

Mycroft looked at him, those crimson eyes sharp and alert, but with no hint of human emotion in them.

Sherlock snapped his teeth at his brother, bringing the newborn's attention back to where it should be, and snarled, "Mine," referring of course to the man held behind him.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes dangerously, eyes flicking to Geoff, then back to Sherlock quickly. Geoff's eyes widened and he waved his hands frantically.

"No, no, no! Not me! I'm not his!" He realized his mistake too late as Mycroft lunged too fast for him to see.

Sherlock shoved the two men out the door and slammed into his brother, stopping him from going after the humans. "Mycroft, listen to me! Mycroft!"

Mycroft stilled his movements for a moment, recognition slowly filling his eyes. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock dropped his head to his brother's shoulder in relief. "Yes, Mycroft. It's me."

Sherlock led his brother to sit back on the table, stooping to grab a bag of blood on his way. "Here."

Mycroft took the bag slowly, glancing up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. "He had it here for me if I ever needed it again."

Mycroft nodded his understanding, un screwing the cap and drinking the blood greedily.

When it was gone, Mycroft cleared his throat and leaned to look around Sherlock at the door where the two humans were standing, well, lurking would be more accurate a word.

Geoff didn't look the slightest bit embarrassed to be caught and walked forward into the room, stopping in front of the new vampire. "You alright, 'Croft?" he asked softly.

Sherlock raised a brow at the nickname but didn't say anything.

Mycroft ducked his head a bit but nodded, "I'm okay now." He reached a hand out to Geoff, his fingertips grazing over his cheek slowly. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't control it. I tried but..." his voice trailed off as Geoff took a step back, walking around the table, wrapping his arms around Mycroft and resting his chin on the other man's shoulder.

"I know, love." He murmured, not realizing the endearment had slipped out.

Sherlock did though, his eyes widening slightly, before he smiled gently.

John and Sherlock left the two alone after the taller man had made sure that Mycroft had full control.

"I'll be outside," he said, nodding to them in farewell.

Mycroft watched them leave and close the door behind themselves. He turned to Geoff, eyes downcast and fearful.

Geoff frowned. "What's wrong, love?" he asked softly, again missing it.

Mycroft didn't this time though, his eyes opening in shock as his mouth fell open. "Love?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.

Geoff looked confused. "What?"

Mycroft looked at him closely. "You called me love."

Lestrade looked sheepish, eyes going to the floor as a blush rose to his cheeks. "Yeah, I guess I did. I'm sorry, I –"

Mycroft shook his head quickly, stopping the man before he could apologize again. "No, it's fine. Really, it is." He took Geoff's hand in his and spoke to it, not wanting to chicken out this time. "That's was what distracted me earlier. When the car came." Geoff's grip tightened. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you… that I love you."

Geoff's eyes were wide when he looked up, his mouth open in shock. "You…you do?" he stuttered.

Mycroft nodded slowly, embarrassed, looking back down at his hands, missing the brilliant smile that lit the detective's face.

He made a muffled sound of surprise when Geoff grabbed his face in his hands and kissed him soundly.

"I love you too, Mycroft Holmes."

After a few hours of talking and drinking tea, John and Sherlock bade farewell to the two men on the couch and headed off for their flat.

Sherlock could see the glances John kept sending his way; they were kind of hard to miss. So he was prepared when they got to the flat and he was pinned against the door, his mouth attacked and lips forced open. His eyes fell shut as he wrapped his arms around John's shoulders.

"Sherlock?" John said, pulling away slightly.

Sherlock hummed into the tanned neck of his lover.

"Make love to me?" was the almost silent question.

Sherlock froze, his eyes wide. The whole time they had been together John had always been the one on top. Sherlock was afraid to try, afraid he would lose control, afraid he would hurt him.

"I…" he didn't know what to say. He wanted to try, god did he want to try, but he wasn't sure.

"You won't hurt me Sherlock." John told him, kissing him softly as he started to drag the taller man up the stairs to their now shared bedroom, slowly working the buttons on Sherlock's shirt open with one hand while the other worked on his belt. His knees hit the edge of the bed and he let himself fall, taking Sherlock with him, the other man catching himself with his hands as John had known he would.

Sherlock's body was trembling slightly as he held himself up and John frowned. _Well that's no good._ He thought to himself, knowing the other man was too distracted to read him. Yes he had tested it.

John pulled the pocket knife he had started carrying with him out, flipped it open as quietly as he could and slid the edge along his neck slowly, the sharp edge breaking the skin easily. Sherlock shuddered above him and dropped his weight suddenly, his mouth finding the cut on the shorter man's neck easily, tongue lapping at it like a kitten going for milk.

John moaned loudly, tilted his head back to allow easier access, his neck stretched taunt. Sherlock's hand wrapped around the back of his neck gently, holding him close as he started to suck.

"Sherlock.." John gasped, his hands tugging on the vampire's curly hair. "Please.."

"What do you want me to do John?" came the husky voice from his neck.

"Bite me." Sherlock groaned and dropped his forehead down to the sheets, his head slowly shaking back and forth. "I can't John, you saw what happened with Mycroft, I almost killed him."

"Sherlock, look at me." John demanded, hands cupping the other man's face. "You didn't. You know why?" Sherlock shook his head no. "Because you listened to me. You stopped when I asked you too."

Sherlock thought back and realized he was right. He had stopped when John spoke his name. he had always stopped when John told him to. All but once. The first time his brother had come to visit.

"Do you trust me that much, John?"

"Of course I do, Sherlock." Was the easy reply as he was pulled down for a deep kiss.

"One rule, John."

"Hmm?" John looked at him, pleased he was finally getting his way.

"Not during sex. My control is shaky enough without my teeth in your beautiful neck."

Sherlock kissed his way along John's cheekbone, to his ear, nipping on the lobe for a moment before continuing on. He paused with his breath ghosting over John's jugular. "Are you sure about this john?" he asked one last time.

"Just do it Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiled, licking and nipping the soft skin under John's chin, his eyes bleeding to red.

John could feel Sherlock's teeth getting longer as the man nipped his neck sharply, not drawing blood, not yet. He moaned, "Please, Sherlock."

He gasped when the vampire struck, teeth sinking into his neck easily, strong mouth working around his skin. His breath escaped in a long moan, his fingers massaging Sherlock's skull. "Oh, god… so good Sherlock."

Sherlock was in Heaven if there was such a place for something like him. The rich taste of John's blood coating his tongue and sliding down his throat. He growled when he felt hands in his hair, fingers kneading his scalp as John tilted his head back further.

He didn't know how long he drank, but when the hands in his hair started tugging harder he pulled back, lapping up the blood that had leaked out of the sides of his mouth gently.

John pulled him up for a deep kiss, not caring if Sherlock's fangs nicked his lips, not caring that he was tasting his own blood in his lover's mouth.

John broke the kiss trying to relearn how to breathe as Sherlock rid him of his remaining clothes, somehow stripping himself in the process.

Sherlock was trailing kisses and nips along his collarbones when John finally caught his breath.

"Ready now, John?" Sherlock asked silkily, his voice sending shivers sown John's spine.

"Oh god yes." They both smiled, remembering the first time John had said that to him.

Sherlock smiled, coating his fingers in the lube he had grabbed from the end table. He slid a finger slowly into the smaller man, watching as John shuddered, his legs falling further open.

He started thrusting his finger in and out slowly, working John loose. When he felt the other man was ready he slid a second finger in, then a third, John taking all of them without complaint.

_Done this before have you?_ Sherlock asked his lover silently.

John nodded. _Not for a couple years though._

_Good._ Sherlock's voice had a slight growl to it even in his head.

Sherlock removed his fingers when John started thrusting back on them; he coated his cock with lube and lined himself up with John's entrance.

"Ready, love?" John nodded quickly, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock groaned deep in his throat as he slowly slid into John's body. "Absolute bliss," he murmured.

"Fuck… oh god Sherlock…" John's fingernails dug into his shoulders hard, the little crescents left behind slowly filling with blood. He threw his head back and groaned, long and loud, as Sherlock stilled inside him.

John focused on slowing his breathing as much as he could, trying to relax. It had been years since the last time he'd done this. Sherlock was gently kissing his neck and shoulders, comforting, also trying to take his mind off how good John felt.

To Sherlock it seemed like it took years for John to relax, but it did happen, eventually. "Move, Sherlock," John whispered in his ear, tilting his up hips in invitation.

The taller man stayed still for a few more seconds, still getting himself under control. When he moved John almost didn't feel it at first, it was so gentle.

"I won't break," he said, his hands fisting in Sherlock's curls. "Harder. Now."

Sherlock groaned and let himself go a bit more, thrusting sharply into John with a roll of his hips. Judging by the quick gasp and the new nail marks on his back he would say that John enjoyed that very much. So he did it again. And again. Over and over until they both lost their rhythm.

With a sharp cry John came, nails biting into Sherlock's upper arms. Sherlock thrust a couple more times then followed, stuffing his face into the pillow and practically wailing his release.

_Better than I remember…_ John thought to himself. He would have to remember to bottom more often in the future.

Sherlock huffed, a smile on his face. "All you have to do is ask. You can bottom whenever you want."

John glared at him. "Stop that."

Sherlock dipped his eyes, trying to look coy. The effect was ruined by eyes that were just starting to return to their natural color. Coy just did not really work with red eyes.

John rolled his eyes at the attempt causing Sherlock to grin. "Close enough," he said, leaning down to place a relatively chaste kiss on his doctor's mouth, he then curled around him like an overly friendly cat and pretended to sleep.

John laughed and yawned, eyelid drooping slowly. "Night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

Ok. I have been told that my writing is better than I think it is. Not sure if I believe that but... comments and/or concerns (or possible threats?) are welcome.


End file.
